


Waiting for a Christmas Miracle

by MaryWisdom



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Canonical Character Death, mentions of other batfam members, post Batman Inc. #8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 13:09:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryWisdom/pseuds/MaryWisdom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Christmas comes closer, Dick, Jason and Tim realize just how empty the manor is without Damian and how much their little brother has affected the way they see the holiday.<br/>Some cute stories in an angsty wrapping. Merry Christmas!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting for a Christmas Miracle

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in the Christmas mood, but I'm still hurting. I guess warning for feels. Intended as a one-shot, unless. You know. Hope you enjoy!

**December 23** **rd** **, Wayne Manor**

The fire was slowly dying in the living room chimney. It cast a warm light on the walls and the windows, the elegant bookcases and comfy armchairs and sofas. Dick had dimmed the electric lights on the Christmas tree; there were candles too, but they would not be lit until Christmas Eve. Until then only the electric ones (that Alfred disapproved of so much, but that the boys liked to keep on for comfort nonetheless) were allowed.

It was late at night and Dick was nursing a bit of a cold. The others would be returning from patrol soon. Well, all except Bruce. Batman would stay out almost until sunrise. Dick knew the reason his mentor would rather avoid home around the holidays. He was staring at it right now.

There were seven nails in the mantelpiece, but only six stockings fixed to them.  
The one on the far right was Alfred's, white with subtle black snowflakes, and Dick remembered the butler protesting every year when they put it up with their own, and every year again all of them would assure him that he was part - THE most important part - of their family.  
Left from it was Bruce's, decorated with kitschy reindeer and as old as the man himself.  
Next was Dick's own, bright blue and with little snow-men and snow-women.  
Jason's red stocking had a huge happy Santa Clause with bright red cheeks on it, while Tim's was held in simple red and green stripes.  
The last one was for Cassandra, who would arrive the next morning after her flight from Hong Kong had been delayed due to a storm; her stocking was completely covered in red-white candy canes.  
And next to it was a gaping hole of emptiness.

Somewhere along the way since all the horrible events earlier this year, all the boys had managed to make enough peace to come home for Christmas. Of course, if Tim or Jason were asked, they would shrug or say it was for Alfred's sake. Cassandra did it because she loved Christmas and got not nearly enough chances to come home to Gotham. And Dick would say he was here for the sake of family, since that's what Christmas was really all about, wasn't it? And perhaps it was true. But, God, did it hurt!

Dick had been the one to tell Bruce to remember the good times and not lose himself because of that terrible heartbreaking day that had ripped his little brother from them. But those fond memories were what made him miss Damian the most. Because missing Damian was not remembering his broken little body and all the blood on their hands. It wasn't remembering the funeral in the rain with the hideously small casket.

Missing Damian was seeing an advertisement for the new Assassin's Creed game on TV and Damian not being there to throw a tantrum because Bruce did not want him to play it. Missing Damian was hearing a cat meow in an alley and not having to wait because there was no Robin who would go investigating. Missing Damian was Tim saying something deliberately silly and Damian not being there to throw a snide remark at him. Missing Damian was an unused nail in the mantelpiece at Christmas.

Dick only realized Tim was in the room with him when the teen was already standing next to him. By that time, Tim had followed his gaze and the sadness had made it into his eyes too. He understood.

Tim gently squeezed Dick's shoulder because what should he say? What could he say? Damian had been his little brother too. So he just sat down next to Dick on the sofa, dressed in t-shirt and sweatpants, and smelling clean because he had used the shower down in the cave after patrol.

Tim's eyes wandered to the tree, wonderfully decorated with bells and balls and candles and lamella. It was beautiful - but something seemed to be missing. It looked different from when Bruce had been lost in the time stream (and something had seemed off back then too, but not the same thing), and it was also different from last year's Christmas (which they had actually all spent together; it had been one of their best ever, even though Jason had spiked the eggnog and a tipsy Dick had surprise-hugged Bruce whenever he got the chance).

"Remember last year?" Tim said with a little smile before he could stop himself, "You talked Damian into helping with decorating the tree, and he would step back and just look at the tree for a full minute after every single piece he put up?"  
Dick chuckled, soft laugh lines forming at the corners of his eyes. "Then he'd move the piece like one tiny branch to the left and stare at it again, until he thought it was perfect. Almost drove you crazy."  
Tim grinned fondly, remembering how he had eventually just given up and gone up to his room to read because Alfred and Jason had banned him from the kitchen and the cave was taboo during the holidays. When he had come down again, almost four hours later, Damian had just stepped away for the final time and declared the tree a masterpiece.  
"It was perfect," Tim said silently and his smile got wistful.

A loud 'crunch' alerted them both to Jason's presence behind them. His hair was wet with snowflakes and he was still wearing his leather jacket (his boots where probably by the back door in the kitchen; Alfred hated it when they wore shoes inside).

"If you want milk you better get it yourselves," he said with his mouth full of Christmas cookies. He was carrying an entire plate full and put it down on the coffee table in front of the sofa. On his way in through the kitchen Jason had obviously discovered all the cookie jars and taken a few from every kind on the plate.

Dick found his favorites, gingerbread animals, and picked an elephant and a cat. Tim hesitated for a moment while Jason sat down next to him, munching on a chocolate chip cookie as big as his hand, but then Red Robin reached out for a brownie bar. By then Jason had finished the chocolate chip cookie and, though still chewing, was going over the plate wondering which sort to eat next.

Beside the gingerbread animals, the brownie bars and his favorite chocolate chip cookies there were also Apricot Thumbprints with a chocolate-dipped bottom (which usually had to be hidden from Bruce), Rum Balls (with Rum aroma instead of actual rum because Cassie wasn't old enough for rum yet, but totally crazy about Rum Balls), Almond Biscotti (which usually ended up next to Alfred's cup of Earl Grey) and Linzer Sandwiches.  
At the sight of the last, Jason stopped chewing.

He picked one Linzer Sandwich up, tiny and fair and covered in powdered sugar, and he carefully twisted off the top like he would with an Oreo. The jam inside was bright red; Jason licked it after a moment of hesitation.

"Cherry," he said, noting the distinct taste, and both his brothers stopped mid-bite.

All of these cookie recipes had already been around when Jason had been Robin (except for the brownie bars recipe that Timmy had brought along when moving in), but back then the Linzer Sandwiches had traditionally been made with Raspberry jam. When Jason had spent Christmas at Wayne Manor last year, for the first time again after way too long, he had been surprised to notice the change from raspberry to cherry. And that the Linzer Sandwiches became spars whenever Damian got near the cookie jar.

As it turned out, two years earlier Alfred had run out of raspberry jam and had had to fill half of the Linzer Sandwiches with cherry to his utter mortification. But Damian had eaten them all and told the butler that he liked the cherry ones better. So Alfred had ended up changing the recipe permanently.

Jason stared at the little cookie in his hand. Damian had struck their lives like lightning. He had only spent two Christmases with them and had changed them forever. Sure, he had been a brat more often than not. But he was their baby brother, and, surprising as it was, he had loved Christmas like any other child.

"Remember how the baby-brat would go all 'Tt, father's birthday is not on Christmas!' whenever the Christmas songs went 'A king was born that day'?" Tim and Dick both snorted and Jason grinned at the image of the small pouty boy with the perma-scowl listening to Christmas songs and licking the jam out of the Linzer Sandwiches. It was so conflicting with the image of the strong fighter he had wanted them all to see.

But Damian had been a child. A child who would miss Christmas.

It was a truth that lingered in the room like a black veil that had been cast over the tree and the stockings, at times suffocating any joy in a wave of utter helplessness.

"Did you ever make him believe in Santa Clause?" Tim asked Dick suddenly. The first Robin stared at his brothers for a moment before a smile made it to his face again.  
"Kind of," he answered and went on to explain, "Well, Talia never told him about Santa, and it's of course a lot tougher to make a 10-year-old believe in the old man with the sleigh. I guess bringing presents wasn't cool enough of a superpower. But then last year in November I talked him into watching 'Rise of the Guardians' at the movies and afterwards Dami walked up to the poster and pursed his lips and said, 'Tt, if it's so important for you, Grayson, I suppose I could believe in North. He might be a fat imbecile, but at least his version has swords and a cool sleigh!'"  
Tim grinned, "Everyone loves the sleigh!" And they all broke into laughter for a moment.  
But then Dick wiped at his eyes and mumbled, his voice heavy, "God, I miss him so much."

Jason could feel the gaping hole Damian's death had left in their lives, in the entire Manor. The emptiness was eating away at them and wouldn't seem to ever fill up again.

He thought of his little brother under the Christmas tree, eyes gleaming after unwrapping the Assassin's Creed III game that Jason had bought at a good price from the store near his flat. Of teaching Damian how to play ice-hockey and coming to regret it while assessing the bruises the following morning. Of losing a snowball fight to a 10-year-old.

Damian had never had the chance to turn eleven. He had never tasted spiked eggnog. He had never been kissed under the mistletoe.

Something inside Jason made 'clack' and he stood up suddenly, hitting the coffee table and startling the other two former Robins. "Let's go," he said matter-of-factly and waving his hand impatiently.  
"Jay..?" Dick said, his voice a mixture of emotions.  
"We can sit here and wait for a Christmas miracle," Jason cut him off before he could go on, "or we go and make one happen!"

His brothers stared at him, the initial disbelief in their eyes slowly, steadily giving way to something else. Something hopeful.

"Do you have a plan?" Tim asked eagerly and without even a hint of skepticism. Jason gulped a little; of course there was a risk; it was the reason he hadn't already done it. But now he was sure it would be damn worth it.

"Yeah, baby bird, I have a plan."

When Bruce returned from patrol, his boys were gone. But even though the Manor was empty, it was full of hope.


End file.
